Diablerie Haunting
by romanov16
Summary: AU When Logan returns to the Mansion after a dead lead on his past, he invites Rogue to accompany him on his next one. Which leads to a summer at Gettysburg. However, Logan's past isn't the only thing haunting the town. Many wicked things are lurking about, hoping to abuse the raw energy of the place. In over their heads, their only help is the spirit of a Cajun deserter. Romy.


XXX

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The lawn is pressed by unseen feet, and ghosts return gently at twilight, gently go at dawn, the sad intangible who grieve and give ~ T.S. Eliot

* * *

 _Prologue_

* * *

 _Louisiana_ _Atchafalaya Basin_ _1862 AD_

Far from the sins and sacraments that adorned the self-loving lights of Mother N'awlins, deep in the silence those still, slow rippling bayou waters of Atchafalaya, whispering leaves of cypress trees bore mournful and weeping vigil. It was no diffidently then those lovely saints which hailed and homage Maria in New Orleans' finest churches, while some of their sons moved under their sheltering shade with a silent stealth and deadly grace; falling deeper into the dark heart to escape others sons of the land -their own _frères_.

In scenes repeated a hundred times through the war, cotton clad men and mere teenage boys in gray jackets with wide brim hats, and their trousers held with suspenders fled their enemies, two stolen Springfield muskets clutched with gritted resolve.

If darkness fell, they could vanish like ghosts in the dusk. They knew this land as well as the Indians ever did, having inherit their covenant through marriage, adoption, and blessings. And far better than any citadin could ever dream.

"Its water surely flowed 'longside our blood, boys," a brown haired man spoke, though his voice was strained. "It be stronger than our blood. If we could get t' the tithe collector she'd- "

"Mebbe so, _Pere_ ," Henri Lebeau replied, a tightness to his throat reveling just how often the thirty year old had heard this.

"Yo' blood also flowin' out yo' side deir Papa," his brother commented, with a lightness that would've seem out of place if one didn't know him well enough to see the tics in the young man's jaw and hands. In fact, blood was flowing from the sides of three men in their party. Including his father, whom he and his brother supported with arms over their shoulders.

So behind the laissez-faire façade, there was tightly managed fear in Remy Lebeau's eyes; blazed in the _diable_ colors that had earned him unwanted attention his whole life, making them sizzle 'round the rims of their black backdrop to the point where his brother was telling him to keep calm, least their crimson light give 'em away.

"Deir no red fireflies in dis swamp Rems," he pointedly reminded the twenty year old, while stumbling after friends and cousins. "Not t'at I've seen."

An auburn eyebrow winged up to disappear under messy bangs, clung together just so in the humidity, that they didn't hide his expression the way they were meant to. So Remy Lebeau was forced to rely on his second learned defense.

"T'at don't say much now, does it?" he asked dryly, despite taking steps to follow his brother's advice. Not that he'd let the older man know that, And he felt rewarded when a few steps ahead, Etienne sniggered into the barrel of his musket, the seventeen year old's fear momentarily forgotten.

Henri breathed out a long suffering sigh, turning his gaze Heavenwards as though to ask the Almighty His-self what he'd ever done to be punished like this. Surrounded by idiots.

"A few rounds in Purgatory would be better t'an dis," the newly wed husband muttered darkly as their feet continued to trudge the water soundlessly. Remy let out a low whistle.

"Mercy and Tante Mattie would have yo' hide if dey heard y' talkin' like dat," he said, impressive despite himself. His brother had always been the pious one, while Remy and their little cousins (under his guidance) would cut church every chance they got.

Henri snort, wearing a grin that failed to reach his eyes. "If I live t'rough dis, dey welcome t' it, and any tortures dey little holy hearts can put on it."

The grim reminder of their plight drained any merriment from their tanned faces, replacing it with the anxiety of knowing there were still yards ahead of them, and their pursuers weren't that far behind. That dread got worse when Jean-Luc's bullet struck leg suddenly gave out beneath him, turning his large frame into dead weight.

"Hell and danmnation-" the crafty patriarch of their community gritted out from between his teeth as his sons -one by birth, the other by claim- dragged him over the nearest tree trunk and set him upon one throne of a root, the older man making its plain wood majestic with his sitting upon it.

Immediately, their party grinded to a terrible halt, affection battling instinct as they remained still round their leader.

"...Y' boys go on," Jean-Luc finally spoke, face set grimly. "Dere's be no point in de old dragin' de young t' de grave with 'im-"

"Dere is when it was de old keepin' de young outa his grave," Remy replied with forced calmness, though the red of his eyes was starting to glow again. "We ain't leavin' y'."

"Remy-"

" _Non_. Forget it."

Sighing, the older Cajun turned to his oldest. "Henri."

That was all needed said when the man spoke like that. The balding man paused, a different sort of war shinning in his eyes before he took hold of his sibling's duster clad shoulder. "Rem-"

But his brother shook his comfort off with a single shrug of a deceptively sinewy arm.

"Go if y' want. I'm stayin'," he said plainly, his tone offering no argument. Just fact.

Etienne suddenly straighten, his grip on the gun tighten. "I'm not leavin' either _Oncle_ Jean. I'm not."

Faced with insurrection on both sides, Henri sighed again before giving into the inevitable, and raised his eyes to the meet the other men who loyalty stood by.

"Dis isn't yo' concern. Y' don't need feel obliged t' stay," he told them simply. Remy nodded before adding his own piece to it.

"Most o' y' got some family t'at needs y' among de livin'. Go. Dere no shame."

A few hesitated, but the call to home and hearth and life was to strong a pull to deny. Silently, they slipped on ahead without them, disappearing into safety.

Jean-Luc was shaking his head, face red at being so disobeyed, his panic tightly reined with years of control, though the boys could see the cracks. "Don't do dis t' me boys. I'm old. I'd lived my life-"

"Well, yo' gonna live a little bit more _vieil homme_ ," Remy stated reasonable, a small grin playing the devil's fiddle across his angular features. His hands pulled a dog-eared deck of cards from his pocket and shuffled them to distract his fingers. "So y' can look forward to bouncin' does six ou sept grandbabies Henri and Mercy gonna give y'."

"I'd settle for two or one," Henri said drily. "And y' can help t'at number grow -if y' could catch a fille for more den one nuit."

Remy smirked, irises crackling. "Catching ain't de trouble _mon fere_. Problem is I don't wanna keep just one."

...

...Despite evidence to the contrary, none of boys had thoughts of a last stand running through their hands. No, survival was too crucial a part of who they were for that. Yes, the odds of succeeding were stacked against them, but just cause you were licked before you started wasn't no reason no to go for it, Remy reasoned amiably, cards slapping through his fingers.

The young man stood like Charon incarnated, leaned up like a boneless scarecrow against a cypress in plain sight. Successfully hidden around him in both the light and shadows were his relatives as they waited for their targets. Interestingly enough, while the men tailing them these the last few days wore not the Union Blues that many of their state marksmen was aiming for in the last battle which they'd run from, but the light mist-spun gray of another fancy pants government who'd made the mistake of crossing with their folk.

And the graver mistake of trying to take them by force to their _fou_ war. Their wrists still burned with the ropes and uniformed wool that had bound their hands. So did their pride. Which was perhaps why when Jean-Luc hadn't put as much as a fight as he could've.

They had a shot of this working without bloodshed...not much of one, but a shot. And they had to do so their would be no repercussions against their people. It all depended on what the family generously dub the second of Remy's...gifts. And it would take strength, energy he wasn't sure he could manage.

But he had to try. That was the only thing too it...side's there was a reason for the family nickname for him being Gambit. He wasn't afraid of high stacks.

Soon enough, the sounds of horses were on the small patch of land before him, with the ring song of steel being pulled from it sheath following after.

 _"Bonjour Monsieurs_ ," he greeted with a tip of his hat, before allowing them a look into his unusual eyes. "Lovely evenin' _non_?"

The gray clad captain wasn't amused, if his stony face was anything to go by. "Were are yo' companions, deserter?"

His brows arched and at that moment, he rolled out the charm, casting it to grasp hold of the emotions roiling in the soldiers before him. Anger, irritation, fear of unknown territory, the longing for home all rolled back to him, feeding him intelligence to chose his next words as his senses locked onto small shards of guilt in their signature.

"Deserter? _Monsieur_ , y' can't desert what y' didn't willin'ly join. Is it really worth all dis fuss? Surely dere hundreds of willin' folk round here waitin' for the chance to put on de gray," Remy contoured reasonably, his tone civil. Still, his grasp in his cards remained firm, till his fingers were white.

The Captain faltered, and his men blinked as Remy nudged and twiddled their naturally empathy along, pushing so it was stronger than the indignance or anger. The young man licked his lips salt water rolled down his temple with the effort. He'd never tried this with so many before...it was like trying to pull in five separate horses at once. But he refused...to let it...show-

Then one of the soldier jerked back, crying out, and the hold shattered. Remy cursed, straightening. Damn.

"What sort of diablerie y' workin' coonass?" the fellow snarled behind his captain, hand fumbling for his sidearm. Remy smile grimly with an apological shrug -and locked eyes with Henri and Etienne. They nodded, guns at the ready.

"Disappearin' act _Monsieur_ ," he said with false jovialness, while his cards suddenly glowed a brilliant purple in his hands. Tone darker, he inquired the next question, "Want t' see mon next trick?"

He never heard the answer -instead their was the crack of a Springfield, directly behind him, exploding like thunder through his body as it tore bone and muscle and life. The last thing he remember before blanking out was guns blazing, water rushing, turning purple as he charged the area in dying reflexed.

 _No_ , his mind grasped, struggling with every bit of his strength to pull it back 'for it blew. Henri. Etienne. Pere. _I won't let dis kill 'em._

The charm offered one last chilling detail as his consciousness slowed -a looming presence of greedy hunger, shadowing them all with undisguised pleasure.

* * *

XXX

 _Westchester New York, 2001 A.D_

It was a established, well known, and yet criminally understated fact that life at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters was not and had never been what most would call "normal".

Personally, Marie D'ancanto mused thoughtfully to herself, that was part of its charm. The unpredictability, the possibilities, the endless amounts of doors opening...it was the finest school for mutants in the world. No one was denying that. Or that it's upperclassmen knew how to throw one heck of a late all-night bash, the sounds of which were currently vibrating the roof tiles under her.

The seventeen year old sighed, and looked mournfully at the blanket of star-spangled indigo rolled out above her slim figure. It was hard to believe her first year here was coming to an end. Harder to believe all that had happened that lead her here...

It was summer vacation tomorrow, that was why all the exiting students were trying their party animal on for size in the rec room due to the Professor X being at a World Peace Conference in Washington with Mrs. Monroe, Dr. Grey, and Mr. Summers.

Well, almost all of them.

The Southern Belle shifted guiltily, a frustrated huff expelling itself from pouting shell-pink lips as her porcelain arms wrapped themselves 'round her waist. Marie had tried to join in -honest she had. She had let her roommate -perky, squealy, all-American valley-girl Kitty Pryde - con her into the sparkly gold top she swore to Logan she'd _never_ wear when he caught her buying it ("So what are yer getin' it for?!" he had exclaimed, exasperated), and black little tight-tights. Ones that looked like they'd been spray painted on. How she ever had the nerve to walk into the room was beyond her.

She was still wearing them, under a brown bomber jacket Logan had sent her from...well, wherever he was... along with the tossed up ponytail of brown curls, her moonlit bangs spread across a smoothed lily pale forehead. She snorted, lips tugging up wryly. She'd lasted all of ten minutes, tops. She just didn't fit.

She huffed, chin lifting proudly.

Well excuse her if she didn't find ear-shattering music (which sounded for all the world like Neanderthals banging rocks ta-gether) cheep punch spiked beyond wisdom or legality, and dozens of bodies of both students and local kids, invited to the mansion for the event, pressed against each other without any sense of decorum or prudence what-so- _ever._ Gawd -even if she hadn't been raise in the more conservative South, she'd still shudder at the way tongues had been shoved down throats...she just didn't see the appeal of that - even if she'd had the choice of course.

A mutation that absorbed the soul through skin contact like hers kinda prevented that. Rather effectively too. The atmosphere in the party was the antithesis of her.

That was why she did what she always did when she panicked. Run. Retreat. Get to her safe ground and hold fast to it. The roof was an easy refuge to access, and Marie had discovered it fast and early when she'd was first dumped here by the Wolverine -a sixteen year old, runaway river rat; bitter and timid at having been cut off from the world of human touch.

She held herself a little tighter.

Those had been hard days. And Logan, her self-appointed protector...bless his grouchy heart...had done everything for his adoptive sister that he possible could, visited as often as possible...when he was off doin' Lord knows what.

But if there was one thing Marie had learned, it was that the only cure for a frozen heart was time. Good times. With friends.

A soft smile lightened her delicate face; and good times were all but popping up from the ground here -pranks with Bobby Drake, late night sleep overs with Kitty and Jubilation Lee. And there were good times ahead -all the students here had formed bonds that would last a life time, and the world was at their feet. And they were lucky, so lucky to be living here and now and not even twenty years prior. All the struggles the Professor had spoken off that the earliest students had to through...who were now the teachers -persecution, terrorists, experiments...things weren't exactly easy. But they were tons better sine Liberty Island. The Confrene thing proved that, didn't it?

So the only questions rolling around her head now was...what next. After summer, after next year? Where did she want her life to go?

Marie had no idea. Kitty wanted to go into computer science. Jubilee told anybody who would listen -and a lot of people who'd wouldn't- about how she planned to give Steinburg a run for his money in movie making. But as for herself...she'd had nothing. Hell...she hadn't even accomplished the one goal of control she'd came here for...

Her jaw clench. _No self pity,_ she reminded herself, angry brushing silver droplets from where they formed like pearls in her emerald gaze. Her whole life was ahead of her -and she was pure and untouched, dispute everything. _Purity of mind and conduct is a woman's glory._ Least, that was Storm always said to cheer her up.

She didn't have it _that_ bad. Not at all. She was safe. With people who cared about her. Who would help her, if she asked. Breathing out, she sat up, reveling the quiet of the night air. Besides, who need a party when you had the heavens' glory shinning above you? And judging from the Rolls car pulling up to the mansion 'bout now, it would get her in a whole less trouble than her classmate's underage drinking.

 _Evenin' Professor_ , she greeted pleasantly. _How was yo' Conference?_

 _Very well, thank you Rogue,_ the master telepath answered her pleasantly, sounding very much like his peaceful self. If rather amused. _But would suggest getting yourself inside, child. Strom is rather aggravated by your classmates...debauchery. It wouldn't be prudent if you were struck by lightening before summer._

Marie giggled at the thought, and grinned broadly at the mere thought of the African Goddess aroused to fury. Sure enough, the wind was picking up, clouds gathering. _Yes, suh._

 _Oh, and Rogue?_ Dr. Grey chimed in, tone light and gentle. _You have a surprise waiting for you in your room._

Her breath stuck in her throat at that. There was only one surprise that she would care about. At once she was scrambling for the roof edge, skimming down the drainage pipe to her window before hopping inside with baited hope-

Which was released in a delighted squeal as the smell of Cuban cigars and cheep aftershave meet her nose, right before the scruffy, smugly crinkled face greeted her own from it place against her bedroom wall.

"Logan!" with no other word, she promptly flew at him, thankful for her jacket that allowed her to safely hug him. Tightly.

"Miss me kid?"

Playfully giddy, she shrugged.

"Not really," she jibbed him with a crinkle nose. Logan snorted, before tousling her hair fondly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth uncertainly -like it was trying to smile but didn't remember the mechanisms required.

"Sure you didn't," he said dryly. Then his steely eyes soften. "Missed you though. Almost."

She laughed, and stood back, eyeing him curiously. "So when ya get back, sugah?"

"Just now about."

"Why didn't Ah hear your bahke?"

The Wolverine shrugged before taking another puff of his Cuban. "Ran outta gas a mile back. Had to push the damn thing back here."

"Ah," she said, nodding knowingly. Then she twisted her glove fingers before as she found herself inquiring -"Did...did ya fahnd what you were lookin' for up North, Logan?"

Face scrunched up, Logan grunted in disgust and wave a calloused hand. "Na -it was a bust kid. Nothin' left when I got there."

Eyes softer, Marie reached for his arm and tugged him to sit beside her on her bed. "I'm sorry Lo', Ah know how much ya were bankin' on fahndin' somthin'."

Logan tolerated her small palm there with the look of someone drinking vinegar -next her Marie, no one hated human contact like the feral. So the Southern Belle took it as a sign of how much he needed it. Then he breathed in deeply.

"It doesn't matter. School goin' good for you?"

Marie nodded. "Sure did - summer brake's tomorrow."

"Any plans?"

She shook her head. "Nome. Not really. Just hangin' out Ah guess..."

When her protector didn't reply, she watched him curiously from under her bangs. "Logan?"

His jaw worked as he turned back to his charge, taking in the new hair style and the sent of Half-pint's way over-priced perfume. But her big green eyes were the same curious fawn eyes he'd met a year ago, all innocence and un-bloomed beauty. She'd be a bombshell when she grew into herself. But for now, for some reason...she was his friend. His only friend.

That was how he got the balls to ask what he came back for.

"But while I was up there... some memories came back to me...ones I didn't see comin'. I think I got 'nother lead-"

Instantly, his girl perked up with genuine joy; and something tugged in the hard muscle that softer people might've called a heart.

"Logan! That's great!"

"-nd I want you to come with me."

She did a doubled take on that, doe eyes wide.

"Whaht?" she stuttered. And Logan was starting to get a squirming clench in his gut. Damnit, this was why he didn't do the emotional stuff.

"Well I figured you had time on yer hands with summer brake here," he explained with a flop of a hand. He was going need a beer after this. "Course, you don't have-"

"Logan Ah loved tah!" she exclaimed, bouncing up and down with a burst of vivacious glee. The Canadian hadn't blinked before his girl was pulling her old travel bag from under her bed, before darting about the room, tossing clothes and scarves, and gloves and trinkets into without any semblance of order.

She beamed at him. "Where we goin'?"

It took him a moment to bring his focus back to the situation.

"Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, kid."

* * *

XXX

In downtown Manhattan, the opulent house stood out among its neighbor in grandeur as well as wealth, far more than the feral man before them could ever hope to have, the blond woman thought snobbishly, though she stood cloak in her gilded throne, watchfully silent as the Leaders of their organization spoke, negotiated with the mutt before them.

"Selene's magic has returned the memories you advised to the Wolverine. Your certain this will be enough to inspire him to return to the place they happened?"

The savage snorted. "I know the runt, he got more chains on him to the past than Jacob Marley. Tug one, and he'll come sniffing. I promise you that."

"And he'll bring the girl? Your certain?"

The savage smirked here, his teeth gleaming hungerly. "Runt's been lonely. I can smell it on him. He'll bring her...just down forget my payment when this is done."

The blond woman could barely hold back a contemptuous sneer as the feral swaggered from the room. As if anyone could forget such a crudely demanded salary. And it was only when she was out of it did she dare to allow her to leave her diamond form -she'd hate to have his stench on her skin.

"I can not believe we've sunken so low as to ask that mongrel for help," she fumed.

Another cloak figure turned her head fractionally to her. "It would not have been neassary had you been capable of doing you job, and prevented some of the spirits from escaping.. _.again_."

She gritted her perfect teeth. "I'm perfectly capable, if it wasn't for that bloody Cajun _poltergeist._ His abilities didn't end with death and allow him to reisist me at every turn."

"In short, you failed us," the second figure finished. Then she chuckled lightly. "And as it remains neassary to recapture him, will have to use more...alluring bait, based on his habits."

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I'm glad I got this out on Halloween, inspired by Civil War Ghost stories. Read and Review! Happy trick or treating.


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